


In Which the Hippocratic Oath Is Well and Truly Put to the Test

by bossladyharley, trashtrove (editoress)



Category: Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, stealing from the RLS book as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossladyharley/pseuds/bossladyharley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/trashtrove
Summary: For a struggling doctor and her robot assistant, a well-paying job on the RLS Legacy sounds too good to be true.  Or it would, if only the circumstances and the crew weren't so suspicious.  Especially that Silver fellow.A tale of adventure, unlikely friendship, and the harrowing risks of professionalism.





	1. Hired

Montressor spaceport was nothing if not lively.  The crescent bay was crammed with docks and inns and trading houses, and through all those things moved an unfathomable number of people.  It was less of a wonder after a few years of living there, but a wonder it remained.  Ships came and went on their golden sails; spacers who had been to corners of the galaxy she’d never even heard of passed her on the street; and the air rang all hours of the day with song and machinery and stories.

In a place where there was too much to pay notice to and take in, Elizabeth had, as usual, chosen to attend to the details.  Today’s details had been a sour-sounding cough and a badly sprained wrist, and both procedures had been fully paid for.  Altogether she considered the day a success.

And then, instead of leaving, her last patient cleared her throat delicately and said, “Doctor, can I, er, have my records?”

Elizabeth paused in the act of waving Sally Henderson goodbye.  "Oh,“ she said.  She slowly retreated behind her desk and began thumbing precisely through her patient files.  They were in alphabetical order, not that there were so very many to search through. "An awful lot of patients,” she noted as she pulled Sally’s file loose, “have been asking for their records lately.”

“ _We-ell_.”  Sally drew out the word searchingly.  "Business has been so good lately.  I think they must have moved uptown, you know, to the fancier districts.“  She fiddled with her handkerchief with three stout hands; the fourth was carefully and professionally bound. "Also.”

“Mhmm,” Elizabeth prompted, handing the papers over.

“ _Well_ ,” Sally said again.  "Some people believe that you harbor rogues and thieves. The lower element, you know.“ She smiled a little too widely. "I’m sure it’s not true, but what can you do about gossips!”

Elizabeth had opened her mouth, hoping for some relevant and reassuring words to see their own way out, when one of the bells beside her desk rang decisively.  She had five, one for each entrance and each patient room. She had just turned to look incredulously at the particular bell that was still vibrating in place when Cutter burst into the lobby with a crash of metal.  The grate that served as his mouth lit blue as he spoke, his voice deep and tinny.   “Back door for you, Doctor,” he announced loudly, and vanished.

Elizabeth let the matter settle into silence with dignity.  "Please excuse me, Miss Henderson,“ she said at last.

"Oh, of course, Doctor,” said Sally, who had already backed up to the front door. Elizabeth didn’t even hear the platitude the woman offered as she scurried away.  Elizabeth locked the door as soon after as she dared and walked swiftly toward the back of the building.  She drew in a deep, annoyed breath.  Then she remembered that it was late, and she was feeling the strain of running a financially unsound business, and she let out her breath, trying to shove out any malice with it.

It flared back up at once when she stepped into the back hall and saw George Merry standing around as though he had nothing better to do.  She had seen him just earlier this week for a knife wound he’d more than earned, by all accounts.  She had also made herself perfectly clear he had a head on his shoulders for a reason and ought to use it if he intended to keep the thing.  "What happened  _now_?“ she demanded.

George started. "Doc Anderson.”  He touched his forehead in a sort of semi-salute. When she showed no interest in civilities, he held out both hands in defense.  "I didn’t do nothing, I swear!  This is business talk.“

Elizabeth did stop at that, brow furrowed in confusion.  For a long moment, she feared she was about to lose the other half of her clientele, too, and have to move shop back to Montressor proper sooner than expected. She shook that thought off along with whatever annoyance she could cast out.  "Sorry, George.  It’s been a long week, and I thought you’d gone and got stabbed again.”

“Not me, Doc,” he replied.  "But I’ve got a job for you.“

She steepled her fingers beneath her nose.  "But you didn’t get stabbed.”

“No, damnit!” He pulled his kerchief off in agitation, but it caught on his horns.  Abashedly, he worked it back on again.  "It’s not that kind of job.  Well, could be.  Been hired for a voyage, me and the lads.“

Elizabeth had not the slightest idea who comprised the most recent incarnation of ‘the lads.’  She hypothesized it didn’t include the fellow he had gotten in a knife fight with a few days earlier, but alarmingly enough, she couldn’t really be sure.  "I see. Be careful.”

George gave her a wiry, crooked grin.  "You can make sure of that yourself, Doc.  The bloke hiring said as he hadn’t got a doctor, so I says, I know one tough as nails.“

She laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Merry,” she allowed.  "But I’m not sure it’ll get me on a ship.“

"Come by the dock anyway,” he insisted.  "We’re to sail on the  _Legacy_. They’re still in talks for a few more hands.  If you like the job, and if you’ve got any sense I wager you will—"

“Enough.”  She waved his expressive gestures out of her face. “I’ll come.  For your eagerness, Mister Merry, if not your manners.”

George shoved his hands in his pockets.  "You’re well past manners with our lot, Doc,“ he declared.

"Bold words for a man who howled when he got stitches,” she intoned in reply. She smiled in the face of his dark glower.  "Tomorrow is soon enough, I hope.“

"Aye.”  His goal achieved, he half-saluted again and turned to leave.

“George,” she called after him.  "Your recommending me for this job—this doesn’t have anything to do with my reputation for legal discretion, does it?“

"It’s honest work, Doc,” George replied, but he was practically on the other side of the door when he said it.  Elizabeth sighed after him.

She turned the corner to find Cutter waiting in the hallway, whirring with half a dozen medical tools. He was only as high as her shoulder, but if pressed, she would have said he was looming.  "He left, Cutter.  He didn’t need medical help.“

"Shame,” Cutter said.  He reluctantly put his tools away.

“I’m going to lock up for the night.  Will you be all right here?”

Cutter pressed one jointed hand to his iron grate of a mouth.  "Oh no, what if I’m robbed by the lower element?“

She snorted. "Funny.”  Fortunately, that was the one thing she did  _not_  have to worry about.  She had a local reputation that kept a lot of thieves and burglars—not all, but a lot—from troubling her.  Unfortunately, that was most of the payment they offered. “Goodnight, Cutter.”

Cutter had already disappeared into a supply room, humming ominously as he went.

Elizabeth pulled on her coat, a great, dark, woolen thing that had seen better days.  She fancied it made her look mysterious, with its thick shadows and its heavy length that smacked at her calves.  Cutter claimed it made her look like a bag of old laundry, but he didn’t wear coats at all, so that just showed what he knew.  Either way, it was welcome in the still, cold air.

The streets were shadowed over when she left.  As she walked, stars began to pick their way out of the sunlit haze that was slowly retreating from the spaceport.  A brougham clopped by, scattering pedestrians as it went.  A trio of bird-like fellows watched it intently as it passed and then dove into muttered conversation.  Elizabeth kept a weather eye out, as George Merry would have said, but she must have looked intimidating indeed in the coat, for no one gave her more than an appraising glance.

At last she arrived at the doorstep of the Singing Toad Inn.  Contrary to its name, no singing drifted from its well-lit interior, and as far as she knew the innkeeper had no toads at all, vocal or otherwise.  But it was warm and clean.  Too, it was one of the quieter inns, since it had only a few rooms.  Elizabeth was all too aware she had been taking one of them up for months now.

“Ho!” called the innkeep cheerily as she saw her way inside.  "Dinner?“

"Yes,  _please_ ,” she replied.  "Evening,“ she added to the many-eyed lady in the corner, but it was in vain.  The lady continued to smoke as fervently as though she meant to send up a signal across the station.

"What’ll it be?”

Elizabeth wiggled her way out of the coat.  "You know me, Todd, I’ll eat whatever’s left.“

"Right you are.” Todd lumbered back into the kitchen, calling for 'Missus.’  Elizabeth had never once learned his wife’s name.  The woman apparently ran the whole shop but never spoke to customers.

Elizabeth seated herself at the bar.  She breathed in deep, trying to guess what might have been served, but all she got for her trouble was a lungful of pipe smoke.  She coughed discreetly as possible.  Her eyes were still watering when Todd returned.  "On its way,“ he assured her.  He slapped his hands down on the bar and nodded distractedly.  "Er,” he said.

Elizabeth waited him out.

“How much longer do you reckon you were going to stay?” he managed after several false starts.  "It’s no mind to me and Missus.“  He glanced warily over his shoulder to the door of the kitchen. After a moment, he decided very professionally, "But we wouldn’t want accounts to get behind.”

“Very delicately done,” she congratulated him.  "No, I wouldn’t want that, either.  I appreciate you letting me know when my account is running out.“

Todd’s obvious discomfort lessened at the thanks, as it did every time.  "No trouble, miss.”

She was already calculating what she had and what could be done with it when she remembered she still had another decision to make.  It would have been impolite to not at least  _consider_  this job of George’s, whether or not she fancied several months on a ship. “I can let you know tomorrow,” she said slowly.

“Well enough! Fine talk,” Todd said with some relief.  He lightly slapped his hands on the bar again.  "What’s happening tomorrow?“

"Oh.”  She smiled and waved a hand.  "Probably nothing.“

* * *

Elizabeth had the good fortune to be a naturally early riser, so leaving the inn with time to spare was the least of her worries for the day.  She walked briskly and ate breakfast at the same time.  On the way to her practice she winked and nodded to anyone she recognized, offering a "Good morning!” in instances her mouth wasn’t full of biscuit.  The whole place was bright with the bustle of tradesmen hurrying to work and groups of laughing spacers dragging hung-over friends to the docks.  Someone had started on an accordion a couple of streets over.  Elizabeth hummed along as she unlocked the door and came into the front office.

“Cutter?” she called.  She listened, not only for a reply but also for any indication he was up to something, but the building was silent.  "Cutter?“

They came through the lobby door at the same time, which was considerably less comfortable for Elizabeth than for the robot.  "Ouch,” Cutter said anyway.

“You can say that again,” she muttered, shoving her hands inside her coat to cover her breasts, which had gotten the worst of it.  "I came to tell you I won’t be in until late, possibly after lunch.“

"Why’d you come in early to tell me you’d be late?” he asked.

Elizabeth sighed in a longsuffering way she had perfected with practice.  "I have something of an interview this morning.  Be so kind as to hold down the fort until I get back.“

Cutter whirred wordlessly for a moment, and she could have sworn his eyes glowed brighter. "I’m going to run the practice by myself?” he asked slowly.

“For a few hours,” she clarified.  "Very likely, no one will come.  If they do—Cutter, are you listening?“

"Medical oaths,” he said, placating.  "I understand.“  He spread his hands magnanimously.  "The benefit of the patient.  Do no harm. And so on.”

She was going to have to trust that that would do.  "I wish you were as enthusiastic about the principles as you are about the work.“ She made it as far as the door before reminding him, "Just a few hours, mind.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Thoroughly unconvinced, she bid goodbye to Cutter and started for the docks.  A few inquiries here and there led her to the  _Legacy_  that George had mentioned, and thence to the financier of the voyage.  The  _Legacy_  had been pointed out with some respect; to guide her to the financier, most people rolled their eyes, gestured shortly, and gave her no more mind.

She at last found the man on a clear hunt for supplies.  He was well dressed, older than her by a good fifteen years, and even in a diverse crowd such as this he stuck out like a sore thumb.  His ears flopped comically as he tried to shake loose from a vendor.

“Thank you,” he was saying, hysteria mixing with well-bred civility, “thank you, no, I have one.  Several, actually.”

“Doctor Doppler?” Elizabeth called authoritatively.

“Excuse me,” he told the vendor with infinite relief.  He freed himself at last and walked nearly with dignity to meet Elizabeth.

She held out her hand. “Doctor Anderson.  I heard you’re hiring.”

“Ah, yes!” He beamed at her and shook her hand enthusiastically.  "You must be the, er, other doctor.  In the medical field, I presume.“

"That’s me,” she confirmed, amused.  "Do you expect to need a medical doctor?“

"Oh,  _goodness_ , no.   _But_ ,” he added, hefting his veritable mountain of purchases, “preparedness is the key to success.”  What looked like a metal gauntlet began easing its way out of a bag.  He managed to shoulder it back into place and muttered, “At least, I very much hope so.”

She grinned. “Well, it can’t hurt.  I take it you’re otherwise prepared?”

Doppler made a delicate gesture as if viewing a priceless work of art.  "To the last detail.  Except for you, of course, if you’d like to join.  I’m prepared to offer general terms—generous terms—" He flapped his hands.  " _Anyway_. We set sail on the  _RLS Legacy_  in four days.  I expect we’ll be back in four months, certainly no more than six. The crew came very well recommended from a good local man, you’ve met him.  You can find them at the Spyglass Inn.  You have a card, of course, Doctor?“

"Oh,” said Elizabeth, who had in fact one card.  She cast about in her pockets and discreetly shook off any biscuit crumbs before handing it to him.  "Of course.“

"Thank you.” He smiled warmly as he glanced over it. “Oh!  Here at the spaceport.  How exciting!”  He carefully stuffed it in one of his many shopping bags.  "I hope you’ll take the job.  You can never have too many doctors around.“

His excitement was infectious.  She offered a wide smile.  "I have to agree with you there.  But I should warn you I’m not a ship doctor by trade or experience.”

“Stellar, ahaha,” Doppler replied, unperturbed.  "This will be my first voyage as well.  An astrophysicist finally visits the stars.“  He peered at her over his glasses. "Perhaps you’ve heard of my work?”

“Er.” Elizabeth searched for a compromise between honesty and cordiality and allowed, “I might have read something.”  Before he could ask what, she put in, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to talk to the crew before I decide.”

“Yes!  Yes, of course.  Off with you.”  He beamed and waved.  "Until later, Doctor.“

She laughed. "Goodbye, Doctor.”

Doppler’s jovial mood affected her all the way back to the Spyglass Inn.  That was definitely the sort of fellow she could stand to work for, if temporarily.  More practically, anyone who financed a voyage and bought that much in the way of last-minute supplies was the sort of fellow she could well  _afford_  to work for.  And yet it was too early to settle on a decision.  First, she had to take a closer look at this voyage.

The Spyglass Inn was a well kept tavern and inn right off the docks, exactly the sort of place one might expect to find spacers just waiting to board a ship.  Elizabeth stepped inside, humming, and was immediately met by a bright red arachnid face and glowing yellow eyes.  The man towered over her, teeth bared in a low-slung jaw.

“Israel Hands!” she cried.

Hands, who looked a good deal more alive than the last time she had seen him, only sneered.  His eyes narrowed.  "It’s Scroop,“ he hissed.

"You what?” she blurted out incredulously before she could help herself.

Hands’s claws clicked, and his voice lowered to a growl.  "You’re in the way.“

 _Now that’s gratitude!_  she thought to herself, but a moment later she realized aloud, "Of course.  Sorry.  You wouldn’t remember me.”

“Hold off, Scroop!” yelled a familiar voice from deeper within the tavern.  "That’s her!  That’s the doc!“

Elizabeth realized then that Israel Hands, another of her less than legal patients, was part of this crew she had come to investigate, and also that he really did intend to go by the name Scroop.  Neither revelation filled her with confidence.  She went forward anyway, searching for the face to go with the voice of George Merry.  She found him at one end of a very long table filled with spacers and ale.  He casually toasted her before draining the last of his glass.

"And a very good morning to you,” she returned.  "Bit early, isn’t it?“

"It’s breakfast, Doc,” George protested.

Hands shouldered her on his way to the wall, which he leaned against menacingly.  Elizabeth scanned the table for other familiar faces and came up with two or three she knew in passing but not well enough to gauge the overall crowd.  "I take it this is the crew.“

"Most of us. Why?”

She frowned. “Just wondering what sort of voyage this is.”

“The sort that pays well, is all I know,” George said sagely.  He laid one finger along the side of his nose, but what he was trying to convey she couldn’t fathom.

“Pays well!” trilled a voice in her ear.  Elizabeth leapt back just in time to avoid a hurtling miniature of George as it cartwheeled through the space between them.  It stopped to hover over the table.  It was only two or three inches tall but slouched just like the man. “Pays well!  Pays well!” it cried.

“Georgie’s fatter!” shouted someone halfway down the table.  The tiny George puffed out its gut obediently.

“Bugger off, Morph!” George said succinctly.  He waved his hat through the apparition, which dissolved into a pink amorphous mass with a high, cackling laugh.  The creature zipped through the air over Elizabeth’s shoulder.  She whirled around to follow its path and came face to face with a mountain of a man.

It was a rare thing for Elizabeth to have to look up any great distance to anyone.  This man, though, had all of Hands’s height—and none of the gangly build.  He was massive, and she could tell that his size was more than partly due to muscle. Even the complex iron machinery of his cybernetic limbs couldn’t match the size of their flesh-and-blood counterparts. But for all that, he was smiling widely as he cooed over the blob, and his voice was light and lilting.

“Now, Mister Merry,” he said with perfect tones of paternal disappointment, “there’s no call to be rude to Morphy here.  He didn’t mean a thing by it.”  Morph purred innocuously.

“Sorry—” George cleared his throat. “Eh, sorry, Morph.”

Morph seemed none the wiser for the apology.

“Silver,” George continued more boldly, “this is the doc we were looking to bring along. Just in case and all.”

Silver turned to her with surprising speed.  "Why!“ he exclaimed.  "You didn’t tell me you’d found a proper lady!”

Elizabeth felt at once flattered and alarmed by this assessment.  "Not a lady, sir,“ she corrected quickly.  She held out her hand.  "Doctor Elizabeth Anderson.”

His cybernetic hand engulfed hers, and he wrung her hand enthusiastically.  With his other he removed his hat and pressed it to his chest. “John Silver, as it please you,” he returned.  "A real university doctor?  Why, that’s a lucky thing!“

"You’re part of the crew?” she guessed.

He gave her a modest smile with too much glint to be genuine.  "Aye, the good doctor was kind enough to hire an old spacer.  Now, I’m not the swashbuckling young lad I was once, so I’ll be ship’s cook.  But by the powers, I’ll put my heart into it, you may lay to that!“

"If I join, I’ll hold you to that,” she informed him.  She leveled a finger at him.  "I’m serious about my food.“

Silver boomed out a laugh, and Elizabeth couldn’t help joining him.  "Ah!” he wheezed, wiping a tear from his remaining eye. “Now that’s a lass after my own heart, that is.”

“ _If_  you join, Doc?” George repeated, offended. “Hold on,  _if_?”

“That’s right,” she said firmly, refusing to fall for the sad-eyes act of a man who mugged people regularly.  "I spoke with Doctor Doppler earlier.  He’s willing to have me on.  But I haven’t decided yet.“

"Told you,” someone down the table muttered.  "Not enough money for a  _doctor_.“

George scowled at her. "Why the hell not?  Every time you get a spacer in they’ve got to listen to how you wish you’d gotten to 'em sooner.”

“I see word really gets around,” she said a little sourly.

“I’m saying now you get to!” he insisted.  "And the pay’s good.  Company’s good.  And I recommended you, professional-like, and I’ll look like a fool if you don’t come.“

"If I can have a word,” Silver put in.  Something about his voice quieted the table.  He stepped forward with his hat once again in hand.  His solemnity was almost too dramatic, but something of the performance was sincere enough to make her listen.  "Speaking as someone who’s seen his share of ships, and who’s himself needed a doctor once or twice, it’d be a great weight off all our shoulders to have you with us, Doctor.“  He smiled indulgently over the table of spacers.  "There’s some young cocks who imagine as they’re invincible, but you and I—well, we know there’s a lot can happen in four months.”

He made a point, and it was a point she had thought of more than once.  True, there were a hundred voyages leaving from Montressor spaceport every day, but this one had asked for her help.  She let out a breath.  "Do you know what our purpose would be?“

For an instant, he considered her thoughtfully; then, with a sheepish grin and a shrug, he said, "Some private expedition of this doctor’s.  ’T'ain’t no business of mine.  As for me, my purpose is to feed the crew!”

“Fair enough,” she sighed.  She looked down at George, who was twirling his empty glass on the table and pretending not to listen so intently.  "Why me?“ she asked him.

He grunted. "You’re the only doctor I know.”

It was a simple, believable answer, and she could sketch out the most likely story for herself: George Merry had been asked by Doctor Doppler, a new hand at space voyages, to help find and hire the necessary ships and crew; and so George had recommended whoever he knew, which happened to be mostly from the less legal side of the spectrum.  Still, Occam’s Razor panned out until it didn’t, and she had the gut feeling that if she went, this voyage would be a disaster.

She wondered what Cutter would say about it.  He had his own way of being direct and logical.   _What will this voyage be if you don’t go?_  he would retort.  And the answer, of course, was that it might still be a disaster, just one without a doctor on board.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and glanced around the room—at George, at Silver, at Hands, at the woman whose eye she had once patched up.  "Well, shipmates,“ she declared dryly, "I suppose I’m hired.”


	2. Trouble

In the end, she decided to take Cutter with her.

She had a busy few days before the voyage began.  She hit the ground running every morning to pack and purchase more supplies, to visit patients who would need medication or instructions for the next six months, and to spread the word that she would be absent for a while.

“You want me to tell a bunch of  _thieves_ your building’ll be empty half a year?” Caleb asked dubiously.  He was a terrific climber, but not so terrific that she hadn’t seen him several times for broken limbs.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.  "If I come back and the place is ransacked, I’ll be gone a good deal longer,“ she retorted.  "And then they can disinfect and stitch up their own gashes.  You may tell them  _that_ , too.”

Every moment she wasn’t occupied, she was thinking about Cutter.  He was perfectly skilled, and she did not need to worry about his safety.  But the idea of letting him continue to run the practice unsupervised, however convenient, gave her a headache and an upset conscience.  And so at last, she decided to close it down entirely and take Cutter aboard with her.

“Oh, good,” he said when she informed him.  "The same thing, really, but with fewer people.  And in space.“

"That’s the idea.”  She patted his shoulder.  "It’ll be fun.  Think of it as an adventure.“

"Meeting new people on the outside and in,” Cutter said approvingly.  "Very droll.“

Elizabeth pressed her hands together just below her nose and eventually decided, "You know, I think you’ll make friends.”

Her last errand was fortunately at the Singing Toad Inn.  She got up the morning of the launch and went downstairs to have some breakfast and thank the innkeeper for his hospitality.  She found herself strangely sad to leave the place behind.  Todd seemed to feel the same, and loaded her up with a feast of a breakfast.  She ate without protest.  She was not one to turn down extra bacon.  
When breakfast was had and their accounts were settled, Elizabeth said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What’s that, then?” Todd asked.

“Why did you name this place the Singing Toad?”

Todd bowed his head and scratched at one pointed ear for a minute or two.  He cleared his throat.  At last he answered, “Named it Singing Todd’s Inn.”

A delighted grin spread over her features.  "You did?“

He nodded.  "But the painter misread it.  And she was so proud when she was done.”  He ducked his head further and mumbled, “Didn’t want to correct her.”

Elizabeth clasped his hand in both of hers.  "You’re a good man, Singing Todd,“ she declared.  "I hope I’ll see you again.”

“You too, miss.”  As she left, he called, “Safe journey!”

She waved her thanks.   _That’s what I’m hoping_ , she thought.

The  _Legacy_ was ready and waiting for her at the docks.  Its sails seemed to flutter with anticipation, and the crew was doing a great deal more than that.  Elizabeth dodged them as they hauled boxes of supplies up the boarding ramp and stamped back down for more.  She was almost aboard when she had to run back for Cutter, who had remembered to say, “Excuse me,” but had opted not to alter his course whatsoever, nearly causing a disaster and one less barrel of some root vegetable or another.

She stepped onto the deck with Cutter in tow by the arm.  Most of the spacers had a rough look about them, which made it infinitely easier to pick out the officer of the vessel.  Judging by his face, this fellow didn’t much care for the practice of hiring out naval ships, but he called out orders with a steady, booming voice.

Elizabeth trotted over to him.  "Doctor on board,“ she announced once he was between orders.

He harrumphed, and very impressively, but after looking her over, he said with relief, "Ah, the medical doctor.”

Elizabeth began to feel that most people would do very poorly at a university, where you had to call practically everyone a doctor, and not ask what kind unless you wanted half a thesis.  "So I am.  Doctor Elizabeth Anderson.“  She held out her hand.

He shook it gently, careful of his stony grip.  "Mister Arrow.  First mate.”  Even when he wasn’t bellowing, his voice was huge and rumbling.  "The captain’s occupied in her stateroom.“

"Then I won’t trouble her.”  She dodged a petite young woman who was struggling with a pallet much too big for her.  "But I’d like to settle in and get out of the way.“ 

"Stern quarters.  Portside,” he said briskly.  When she hesitated, he pointed to a ladder leading down into the deck and added, “Main stairway, Doctor.  Be with you as soon as this lot is in line.”

She saluted, which caused him to grumble in exasperation, and followed his directions.  The ladder was something of a challenge with her bag of supplies, but it was worse for Cutter, whose legs were not designed for the full range of motion.  In the end, he had to jump and let her catch him, which was more a matter of breaking his fall.

“It must be nice to be so cushy,” he commented.

She pushed him off and sat up, groaning.  "Not currently.“

The medical quarters consisted of two rooms: a small bedroom and a patient room with two cots and a table.  It took little enough time to get set up.  The longest part of the process was arguing that she should get the bed.  She continued to wander once she was finished, familiarizing herself with the space.  They were both small rooms with low ceilings, but based on what she had seen getting here, that was the way of naval architecture.  Her pacing built up speed.  The medical room was four or five steps long, and her room was only three.  Still Arrow did not appear.  "Taking a good long time to get that lot in line,” she muttered.

The ship rumbled under her feet, the engines thundered, and at once both rooms tilted.  Elizabeth went sprawling.  Cutter managed to stay where he was and looked terribly smug for it.

“Learn anything?” he asked.

She wiggled further upright to sit against the wall.  "I don’t like launch,“ she said primly, "and I don’t think I like small spaces.  It’s a very educational trip so far.”

The launch was over, and when Arrow still did not arrive in the next few minutes, Elizabeth decided to solve her other problem by going up top.  She left Cutter behind with promises that she would be back soon.

The deck was less of a frenzy now that the ship was underway.  The crew’s job seemed to be mainly passive now, a matter of keeping an eye on all the ropes and things rather than actively manipulating them.  Elizabeth leaned back against the railing and scanned over them all.  Not a soul in trouble, though Hands looked as though someone had spit in his porridge.

Would that it would stay this way.  But she knew trouble would come soon enough.

* * *

Despite her reservations, the voyage began smoothly.  She had apparently missed all the excitement of the launch.  Her main trouble now was Cutter.  She didn’t have the strength to pull him up the ladder, and she preferred to spend as little time below decks as possible.  Cutter was as morose about this as she had ever seen him, for though he had enjoyed being left to his own devices at the practice each night, he didn’t care for being put away.

“You’re abandoning me,” he lamented.  "I’m in storage.“

Elizabeth propped her elbows on her knees.  She was sitting on the ladder pensively.  "You’re not in storage, Cutter; you’re just very heavy.”

“That’s impolite.”

She stifled a laugh.  "I can’t get you up.  And frankly I’m not sure I could get you back down again, either.“

"That part wasn’t so bad,” Cutter informed her.

Elizabeth was spared the trouble of working up a reply past the urge to chuck something at him by the clip of boots and a ringing voice asking, “Problem, Doctor?”

Elizabeth turned to see a sharp-edged saber of a woman standing over her.  She was perfectly still despite the motion of the ship, and she had an intent, clever gaze.  "Captain Smollett, isn’t it?“ Elizabeth asked.

"Captain Amelia will do.”  She had the firmest handshake of anyone Elizabeth had ever met, including Silver with his steel prosthetic and Arrow with his stone.  The captain jerked her chin toward Cutter.  "Well, Doctor?“

"It’s my assistant,” she sighed.  "I can’t get him up and down, and now I feel rather like I’ve kicked a puppy.“

The captain gave the whole situation a quick once-over and then barked, "Mister Morgan!”

An absolutely massive four-armed man appeared from above.  The captain commanded, “Haul this bucket of bolts on deck.”  Without a word, Morgan reached down.  Elizabeth scrambled out of the way.

“Sir!  Sir!” Cutter yelped as he was lifted with one hand.  But he calmed the instant he was set down on the deck.  Then he flexed his hands, and with a cry of “Freedom!” he was gone, trotting off toward the bow of the ship.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan,” Elizabeth said, despite the fact she foresaw disastrous consequences.

“When the doctor asks, put him back below,” the captain added.

Morgan saluted with a grunt.  Elizabeth waved him goodbye, which earned her an odd look.  "Sorry for the trouble, Captain.  I appreciate the help.“

"Small crises, Doctor Anderson, are the bread and butter of captaincy,” Amelia replied at once.  "Otherwise the crew would sail themselves.  That said, I wouldn’t trust this particular lot to bring a longboat back safely.“

"The few I know,” Elizabeth said, carefully but firmly, “are decent enough if you can get them pointed in the right direction.”

“You don’t say.”  Amelia arched an eyebrow.  "Then we’re saved.  If Mister Arrow can’t get them pointed straight, no one can.“

"Hmm,” replied Elizabeth, who had seen firsthand how George Merry’s like responded to even the sternest policemen.  She couldn’t imagine he would favor Arrow with much better.  At the captain’s questioning look, she continued, “You may be right.  But if not, perhaps I could help.”

“If I need help keeping order on  _my_ ship?” Amelia asked coolly.  Her eyes glinted.

“Yes,” Elizabeth returned in her practiced no-nonsense doctor voice.  "If you ask for assistance, I’ll give it.  I have some experience with unruly patients.“

Amelia watched her threateningly for a moment longer before breaking out in a smile.  "Capital.  You have backbone, Doctor; I like that.  I won’t have you giving orders.  But if you have some way of steering these buffoons, as you say, in the right direction, then by all means, steer away.”

Elizabeth watched Israel Hands clamber expertly among the ropes above them, feeling oddly hopeful about it.  "We’ll see, Captain.“

At that moment, a voice bellowed across the whole of the ship.  "Lunch is prepared, you louts!  Chef says get below deck at once!”

“Now that’s the kind of enthusiasm I can appreciate,” Elizabeth noted.  She turned to see the response of the crew obscuring her view of whoever had turned lunch into such an announcement.  She nodded respectfully at Amelia.  "Excuse me, Captain.“  She followed the crew as they filtered into the galley, hoping that Cutter would forgive her for disappearing below almost as soon as they had gotten him out.

Elizabeth was beginning to discover that anything below decks had the potential to become close quarters at the drop of a hat, and lunch was no exception.  Fortunately, between the vicinity of the ladder and the natural light filtering through the grating above, this room made no attempt to suffocate her as the medical quarters first had.  Also, it smelled strongly of savory broth, and she was terribly hungry.

The crew jostled each other to get a bowl first, some friendlier than others in their elbowing and shoving.  She saw a distinct flash of claws up front and bellowed, "Don’t make me work before lunch!”

A laugh rolled like a wave before her, uncertain and nervous but growing until she heard Silver’s booming, good-natured guffaw from the kitchens.  "Heed the doctor, now!“ he chided.  "I’ve enough for all of you!”  After that, the line proceeded with reluctant civility, and Silver gave her a broad wink when he handed her a bowl.

Elizabeth took what space was available, opting not to start a scuffle over sitting any closer to the ladder.  First she attended to her stew.  It was exactly delicious as it had smelled, with a blend of spices that blossomed into a kick of heat a few seconds after each spoonful.  She gave Silver a congratulatory gesture; her other hand was busy shoveling more stew into her mouth.

When she was halfway through the bowl and her hunger had dulled, her thoughts turned to the rest of the galley.  Elizabeth wasn’t always the keenest on gauging the mood of a crowd, being more accustomed to interacting with people individually.  Even so, the crew struck her as restless.  There was a muttering undercurrent to the conversation that made her uneasy.

She raised her spoon to her nearest neighbor.  "Cheers,“ she said.

He tilted down to look at her fully, and she realized it was none other than Morgan from earlier.  "Got whiskey?” he rumbled.

She shook her head.

His upper list twisted.  "Then don’t say cheers.“

She bit back a laugh.  "My mistake, Mister Morgan.”

He grunted irritably in response.  From the next bench over, George Merry called, “Don’t mind him, Doc.  Dry voyage and all.”

She whistled low.  But having now met the captain, and knowing they sailed on a naval vessel, she couldn’t say it came as a surprise.  Nor could she say she was particularly displeased.  "My condolences.“

Silver swung back into the room like a sail catching wind.  "A dry voyage, you say?” he cried.  "Upon my word, what a fool I am!  Why, the captain’s like to take me for deaf at this rate.  Well!“  His hand landed heavily on Morgan’s shoulder.  He had the attention of everyone in the room.  "An honest mistake, and what’s done is done.”

“ _What’s_ done?” growled a woman across the room.

Silver smiled coyly and laid a finger alongside his nose.  "Best keep that to ourselves, I reckon.“

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly as if warding off a headache.  The room at large, ignorant of her worries, grew cheerier by degrees as the crew processed the news.  When she resigned herself to her fate and opened her eyes, Silver was propped nearby, delicately sipping at his own stew.

"You don’t approve, Doctor?” he asked with a tone of hurt she could almost believe.

“Frankly, no,” she replied wryly.  "I have no objection to drink, but I don’t like its overuse.“

"Oh, no need to fret.”  He punctuated his point with a long, patient draught of stew.  "What kind of ship’s cook would I be if I let the crew have their pick of the stores?  No, don’t you worry, Doctor; it’s me what’s in charge of the kitchen, if not a plank more.  I’ll keep ‘em sober, you may be sure of that.“

He shoved off the wall with a groan, and on instinct she reached out a hand to steady him, though she wasn’t nearly strong enough to make a difference.  Fortunately he hadn’t lost a shred of balance and waved her off with his free hand.  "And, if I may say so,” he continued, “as an old spacer myself—it may be you’ll have less work to do, with a drink now and again to soothe the nerves.  Men and women such as these, four months without a drop?  I can scarce imagine the scraps.”

“All right, all right,” she told him.  "You’ve talked me around.  It seems to be a talent of yours.“

He grinned as though receiving the highest compliment, and she laughed despite herself.

Elizabeth held up a finger even so.  "If I have to tend one person for drinking themselves into a stroke,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by the whole galley, “then I will confiscate the lot of it for antiseptic use, if I don’t tell the captain and throw it overboard.”

Silver’s lips pursed in a rare show of displeasure, but the twinkle in his eye was back momentarily, if dimmer than before.  "Right you are, Doctor.“

She took a deep breath and then let it out.  Silver had a point; a little alcohol would keep morale up, and higher morale meant the crew would spend less time trying to gut each other in their sleep.  She shook her head at that thought.  Her clientele had turned her into quite the pessimist.  "That said,” she allowed more gently, “cheers.”

This time half the galley raised their bowls with her.

* * *

The medical quarters received their first patient no more than an hour after lunch.  Elizabeth laced her fingers together and stared at George Merry in consternation.  For his part, George offered no explanation, only looked as the floor as though he’d really rather leave but couldn’t figure out quite how.

“What seems to be the trouble?” she asked at last, very slowly.

“Had a cough,” George grumbled, mostly addressing the floor.

She furrowed her brow at him.  " _Had_ a cough?“

"Aye.”

“Between the time I saw you last and now?”

He grunted what could have been a confirmation and shoved his hands in his pockets.  "It weren’t nothing,“ he blurted out.  "I coughed is all, and got sent down.”

“And you listened?” she asked, a little more incredulously than she’d meant to.  
He shrugged.  "Orders.“

"Orders from whom?” she pressed.

“Silver.”  He tugged at his kerchief and added quickly, “He made a fuss is all.”

His answers struck her as alarming.  To be sure it wasn’t medical alarm, she gestured him over.  She placed one hand flat between his shoulder blades and the other against his upper chest.  "Well, go on, take a deep breath, then.“

George scowled but did so.  There wasn’t the slightest catch in his lungs that she could hear or feel, and though this wasn’t exactly a professional-level examination, she felt confident in her conclusion.  She gave him a pat on his shoulder for his trouble.  "Either he’s a mother hen or he’s an ass,” she decided.  George did sputter at that, eyes wide.  "I suppose I’ll go figure out which.  Now stop cluttering up my practice; it’s not as roomy as the last one.“

George was all too happy to return to his work.  He left without another word, which was just as well, because Elizabeth was thinking.  George Merry listened to  _orders_ from Silver.  She thought back to the galley and realized most of the crew listened to him, even when they were willing to reply unkindly.  He commanded a completely different sort of attention than her professional scolding tone.   _That_ was worth noting.

That gave her something of an idea.  She didn’t want to trouble Morgan every time Cutter had to get somewhere, and she didn’t yet want to trouble the captain for a more permanent solution.  Perhaps Silver could be the compromise.

She headed up to the deck but stopped halfway up the ladder; Cutter was standing at the top of it, staring down at her.  "There is just no winning with you,” he accused.

“I’m working on it,” she assured him.  "Have you enjoyed yourself?“

"Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly, “I made friends.”  He left again before she could recover from her astonishment and question him further.  This day was full of oddities, and they still had a full four months to go.

The crew had returned full force from lunch.  Most of them were up in the rigging, though a few clearly had time for some conversation.  Doctor Doppler was leaning over the railing near the stern of the ship, but fortunately Arrow had a hold on his coat to keep him from toppling out into open space.  Arrow did not seem to be enjoying this arrangement.  At last she spotted Silver on the forecastle deck.  "Oi!“ she called.  "Mister Silver!”  She made her way to the ladder and started up, ignoring the sense that Cutter was glaring daggers at her yet again.  "Could I borrow your expertise for a moment?  If you’re free, that is.“

Silver waited on her alongside a young woman who was looking slightly pink around the cheeks.  Elizabeth gave her a smile as well.  Then she raised an amused eyebrow at Silver.  "Why on earth did you send George to me, anyway?  He’s perfectly fine, so I kicked him out.”

Silver’s grin was a charming admission of defeat.  "Oh, well, better safe than sorry.“  He elbowed the young woman beside him.  "Eh, lad?”

 _Lad?_   Elizabeth looked again.  She couldn’t shake the impression of a young woman in her twenties.  "Doctor Anderson, right?“ the youth asked.

Elizabeth reminded herself that she had never been talented at parsing age or gender, and it would be the height of stupidity to rely on her own assumptions.  The boy was probably sensitive about the fact he looked so feminine.  She refused to be rude about this.  She offered him a wide, warm smile.  "Elizabeth is just fine.”  She held out her hand.  "And you are?“

He shook her hand cordially.  "I’m Mel.  Nice to meet you, Doc.”

“Likewise, Mister Mel.”  Having thus avoided certain disaster and insult, she turned to Silver.  "Do you think I can talk  _you_ into something for a change?“

He gave her a mock bow.  "I’m at your service, Doctor.”

“Don’t be so eager just yet, Mister Silver,” she warned him wryly.  "It’s about my assistant.“

"Cutter?” Mel put in.

She blinked.  "Yes.  Have you met him?“

Mel nodded.  One corner of his mouth twitched, but his voice was deadpan when he said, "I think he likes me.”

“A rare blessing,” Elizabeth intoned, in full sincerity.  She wasn’t even sure Cutter liked her.  She sighed.  "Anyway, the poor fellow can’t work the ladders, and he needs to be able to get between the medical quarters and the main deck, at the very least, on his own.  I refuse to ask Mister Morgan to tote him around; the man has better things to do, I’m sure.“

Silver rubbed his chin.  "That’s right conscientious of you, Doctor, thinking about a man’s duties before your own needs.  But if needs be—by thunder, John Silver’s the man for the job.”

She was afraid he was getting carried away by his own dramatic declarations.  "Don’t let me take  _you_ away from more important work, either.“

"Nonsense!”  He clapped Mel on the shoulder and completely missed how taken aback the boy looked by this development.  "Why, I’ve two crafty cabin boys to help me with the work.  Surely I can spare a moment for the good doctor, if I expect you to spare me one in turn.“

"Sparing a moment for you lot is quite literally my job,” she reminded him, but her eyes were crinkled in amusement.  "Except for George Merry, who hasn’t got a cough.“

Silver laughed genially.  To Mel, he said, "Go help Jim in the kitchens, there’s a good lad.”  He gave the boy a gentle push along the way.  Mel hurried away past Elizabeth’s wave goodbye.  "Now!“ Silver declared.  "Let’s see to this ladder that’s so counfounding you.”

She showed him.  Immediately Silver’s focus was on the deck and walls.  He thoroughly examined the point at which the ladder met the deck.  He was shockingly nimble; at least twice she offered a hand to help him up and down, but he had no need of it.

“Mighty kind of you, Doctor,” he said the second time, “but I’ve had long years with these rusted scrapheaps.  Why, by now, I’d like as not stumble like a babe if I had two proper legs!”  He found this uproariously funny and continued to chuckle to himself as he kicked experimentally at the bottom of the ladder.

“I mean no insult to your capability,” Elizabeth offered when she had regained her composure.  "It’s pure instinct, I’m afraid.“

"Well, you’re a helping sort, or you wouldn’t be a doctor, I reckon,” he said kindly.

Elizabeth made no reply to that, opting to be touched yet faintly embarrassed in silence.

Silver returned to the deck with a strained noise that belied his earlier words.  "There’s a hundred things could be done to that ladder,“ he decided at last, "but mark me, the captain would have none of 'em.  But it seems to me a ramp would do the trick just as well, and wouldn’t leave a mark on the  _Legacy_ besides; aye, I’d say we ask real polite for a couple of planks kept for repairs and rig up something nice and easy.”

“Mister Silver, you’re a genius,” she informed him.

“’T'is nothing,” he said, very obviously pleased with himself.  "You flatter me, and you’re too formal besides.“  He gave her a grin that was as overdone as it was genuinely warm.  "No call for titles among friends, eh?”

She shook her head but smiled all the same.  "Well, if we’re friends,“ she decided, "I suppose I’ll just call you John.”


End file.
